


Downtime

by babbling_bug



Series: IH/R NSFW Ficlets [1]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Non-Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tactile Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:50:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1909845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babbling_bug/pseuds/babbling_bug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ironhide owes Ratchet a debt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Downtime

"Medic," Ironhide called into the infirmary, stepping over the threshold. He had been meaning to talk with the doctor for the past few deca-cycles, but between being laid up in his quarters, recovering from a minor dismemberment; the Decepticons pushing the front lines; and the CMO being a busy mech in general, there simply hadn't been any time to discuss Ironhide's... debt.

Embarrassment, he would like to think of it- but that would only undermine the doctor's prowess as a healer and a fighter. So. A debt of life.

Ironhide was a mech who liked his matters to be squarely even. It grated at him to owe Ratchet, regardless of whether the mech thought he owed him; which, given what he knew of the medic- he wouldn't.

He would just have to get... creative.

"What do you want? You don't look injured," Ratchet answered, exiting what Ironhide thought to be the stock room, wiping his hands on a rag.

He huffed at the attitude and stepped forward.

"Your shift ended almost a joor ago, medic. You are due some downtime- Prime's orders."

The CMO bristled at his words, armoured plates puffing up in indignation.

"This is my medbay- regardless of what Prime, or Prowl, or _you_ think- this is where I spend most of my time; on, or off duty!" Running straight on, the medic hardly noticed when Ironhide began to crowd him, subtly guiding him backward toward the empty med-berths.

"Furthermore, while it's reassuring to know that Prime understands the concept of 'downtime', you can tell him that perhaps he should listen to his own advice and- what are you doing?"

Finally snapping out of his tirade, Ratchet looked down at Ironhide's hands, resting on his hips. Before he could get started up again, the weapons specialist lifted him up a short distance to the nearest med-berth.

"Furthermore," Ironhide began, parroting the medic's words back at him, "while acquiescing to your Prime's wishes, perhaps you would also be kind enough to listen to my proposal."

Flaring his EM field, Ironhide leaned forward, digits still firm upon the medic's hips as he closed the distance between their faces. He could feel the medic's apprehension- his irritable and tired mood easily reflecting upon his energy field.

"You need to relax. And I need to repay my debt to you," Ironhide explained, tilting his head just so. "It would be beneficial for the both of us, if you would allow me to help you- just as you helped me."

The medic huffed, but did not pull back nor push him away. "What I did is hardly comparable to this!"

"Irrelevant," he rumbled. Exhaling a puff of warmed air onto the medic's neck cables, he released his hold on his EM field completely, allowing it to engulf the medic's frame; inadvertently releasing the medic's tight hold on his own field.

Ratchet twitched visibly, but did not otherwise respond. Instead, with the surety of an experienced mech, he moved his hands to Ironhide's forearms; dexterous fingers playing along the transformation seams of his cannons.

Engine growling to life, Ironhide pressed closer, nudging aside the medic's legs until they were astride his own thighs. Nuzzling at the neck cables, he tightened his hold on the CMO's tilted hips, fingers seeking gaps in the plating. Dragging one hand away from a hip, he scraped his blunted fingers against brightly coloured thigh plating, lighter and less durable than his own. It would crumple with the right amount of pressure, skirting the line between pain and pleasure...

But no- it wouldn't do to give the medic something else to fix in the middle of this.

He groaned into the plating at the medic's collar-ridge, sliding his traitorous hand further down and stroking beneath the knee joint as he listened to the medic's cooling fans stutter, spinning unevenly.

"Perhaps you should get that checked out by a licensed professional," Ironhide couldn't help but jab, gently mouthing the edges of the medic's pauldron.

Beyond caring, Ratchet simply grunted, deft fingers seeking the most vulnerable seams of his chest plate, drawing him closer. Chest to chest, the position of lovers, Ratchet went about teasing every dormant sensor he could reach, inflaming every single one until Ironhide had to fight back the urge to writhe against the medic's hold.

Revving his engine with increased intensity, he trailed his fingers lightly away from Ratchet's legs, instead curling them over his back. Sinking against the medic, Ironhide allowed him to think that he had won as he pet his back, fingers ghosting over and along sensitive plate edges.

Once the charge that had built in his circuits reached nigh unbearable levels, Ironhide allowed a brief, victorious grin as he suddenly tightened his hold on the medic, clutching him closer, almost- _almost_ \- to the point of pain, before gunning his engine one last time.

Ratchet cried out, fingers freezing in position as the vibrations echoed into his frame. A klik, two, suspended in motion, before he came alive with movement again; knees drawing up to Ironhide's waist as he moaned, pressing his crested helm to his shoulder, hands clawing at his arms as he ground his chest-plate against Ironhide's.

Groaning as he felt the paint chip off, scraping naked metal to naked metal, Ironhide sustained the vibrations for a moment longer before his circuits finally overloaded, electricity arcing bright and acrid smelling between their bodies.

Riding out the pleasure, Ironhide regarded the medic's continued, near inaudible whimpers as testament to his successful repayment of his debt. Shifting slightly, he held his grip on the medic, not yet ready to let go, but unwilling to deny himself the sight of Ratchet's off-lined optics, his still twitching limbs.

"Thank you, Ironhide," the medic panted, vocaliser jumping with static as Ratchet lay a steadying hand on his shoulder. "That was indeed... beneficial."

He shrugged. "Don't mention it."

**Author's Note:**

> I got drunk during the 2012 US Presidential Election and saw someone on tumblr complain about the lack of IH/R smut on the internet. By the time I finished writing it, Obama had won. I'm very proud.


End file.
